Adding to the Family Page 10

  “No, really, this is too much—”

  “Actually I think it’s the least I can do. I consider you a friend, and friends help each other out in times of trouble. I’ve grown fond of your nephews. They’re good kids who need a little extra attention right now. I guess I can identify with them from my own past, when I had to be separated from my mother. Some very good people helped me out then. I’d like the chance to do something like that for Jamie and Kasey.”

  Miranda studied his face for a long moment, and then, finally, she said, “That’s a very nice offer, Mark, and I want you to know I appreciate it. I’m not sure any of my other friends would so willingly open their homes to the boys and me. But, still, I think it’s better if I make other arrangements. Surely there’s a decent apartment that’s available by the end of the month. I’ll go out this afternoon to look around.”

  “You have to work Wednesday. You’re going to find an apartment in one afternoon, and move in the next day—while somehow arranging for day care for the boys?”

  The first sign of doubt crept into her eyes, but she stubbornly shook her head. “I can handle it. And I have almost four weeks before I have to move.”

  “Still cutting it pretty close. Wouldn’t it be better if you had time to make plans? Financial plans, as well as the logistics of where you’ll live and who’ll watch the boys? If you stay with me for a couple of weeks, I’ll help you come up with a long-term plan. And before you get all defensive,” he added impatiently, holding up one hand to forestall the speech he could see her preparing to make, “I know you’re perfectly capable of doing all that on your own. I’m not trying to take over your life, Miranda, but damn it, financial planning is my job. And might I remind you that you are my client?”

  “I’m sure you’ve helped many of your other clients make long-term financial plans—but how many of them have you invited into your home?”

  “None, before now,” he admitted. “But, as I’ve just said, I consider you a friend, as well as a client. And I know you realize this is a good alternative, but you’re too stubbornly independent to accept. You seem to think you’ll be under some obligation to me, or something along those lines, and that’s not the case.”

  “I just don’t like being dependent on anyone else,” she said a bit stiffly. “And I don’t like the thought of causing you so much trouble.”

  “I’m not going to pressure you into accepting my offer,” he assured her. “I just thought it might make things easier for you if you didn’t have to feel so rushed. Easier for the boys, too, if they can stay with someone familiar for the first few days after you return to work, until you have time to prepare them for whatever day care arrangements you make.”

  He could almost watch her mental debate playing out on her face—her reluctance to seem at all dependent on his help versus her desire to do the right thing for her nephews. He remained silent while she considered her options.

  He was relieved when she sighed and nodded. “All right. For the boys’ sake, I’ll accept your offer, at least until I can make other arrangements. But I won’t kick you out of your bed. I’ll take the playroom.”

  “It’s a deal. We can put your bedroom furniture in there for now. I’ll get things ready there today, and we’ll make the move tomorrow. You can leave the rest of your things here, since your rent is paid through the end of May.”

  The extent of his satisfaction concerned him a bit. Maybe he was getting carried away with his caretaking tendencies, especially since he knew Miranda was fully capable of making her own decisions. She was an intelligent woman who had done quite well for herself. She had put herself through college, had a good job in which she was steadily advancing, had been carefully stashing away savings for her future. The more he learned about her past and how much she’d had to accomplish on her own, the more he admired her self-sufficiency.

  Was he letting his strong attraction to Miranda influence his own actions? He supposed he should be a bit more concerned about how important it had been to him for her to accept his spur-of-the-moment invitation.

  But that was something else he would worry about later, he told himself as the kitchen door opened and the twins poked their heads inside.

  “Aunt ’Randa?” one of them said. “We’re thirsty.”

  She rose immediately from the couch. “Close the door and go wash your hands. I’ll pour you some juice.”

  Spotting Mark then, the boys hurried toward him, both wearing broad smiles. He was immediately struck by the difference in their attitudes since he had left them the day before.

  “Did she tell you, Mr. Wallace?” one of the boys asked eagerly. “We’re going to stay with Aunt ’Randa.”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  Their obvious happiness warmed him. He hoped, for everyone’s sake, that he hadn’t made a big mistake in encouraging Miranda to give up the life she had so obviously loved in order to raise her young nephews.

  Explaining that he had a great deal to do that day, Mark didn’t stay long. Miranda spent the remainder of the morning on the phone, rearranging work schedules to give her another day off. She made lunch for the boys—peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with carrot sticks and glasses of milk, which seemed like a fairly nutritious, kid-friendly meal. They seemed to approve, since they cleaned their plates, then finished the meal with a cookie apiece.

  Watching them eat with such healthy appetites, she barely touched her own food. She supposed she was still in shock that she had decided to try to raise them—not to mention that she had agreed to move in with Mark.

  Okay, that didn’t sound quite right, she corrected herself immediately. She wasn’t exactly moving in with Mark. She and the boys were simply going to stay at his place while she looked for a more suitable apartment.

  Mark had made the offer almost nonchalantly, but she knew what a big deal it really was. He was taking the risk of turning his orderly home upside down, displacing his family from their bedrooms, changing their routines, and all for a woman he had known only a year as a client.

  He had told her that he considered her a friend, and that friends helped each other out in times of need. Funny. She had a lot of people she considered friends, but she hadn’t even considered calling any of them for advice or assistance during the weekend. She couldn’t imagine any of them so generously opening their homes to her and her two nephews.

  “Can we play with Poochie when we go live with Mr. Wallace?” Jamie asked after he swallowed the last bite of his cookie. She knew it was Jamie, because she had asked them to wear different colored shirts that day. Jamie wore blue, Kasey red.

  “We aren’t going to live with Mr. Wallace. We’re simply going to stay there for a couple of weeks until I find us a place,” Miranda corrected him. “And I’m sure you can play with Poochie, but remember he’s Payton’s dog. You’ll have to ask her permission to play with any of her things.”

  “Payton’s kind of bossy,” Kasey observed as he lowered the glass he had just drained of milk.

  “Wipe your mouth,” Miranda reminded him, nodding toward the paper napkin beside his plate. “And even if you think Payton is a little bossy, you two need to get along with her as best you can. It’s very nice of Mr. Wallace to let us stay with him. We don’t want to cause him any problems.”

  Both boys solemnly promised to make every effort to get along with Payton. Miranda sent them off to play while she cleaned up the kitchen, but now she was worried again about whether she had done the right thing in accepting Mark’s kind invitation.

  Mark worked until well after midnight Monday, trying to clear as much time as possible to help Miranda move in the next day. He didn’t regret the offer he had made to her, but during the hours that had passed since she had accepted, he couldn’t help thinking of all the changes that were about to take place in his household. At least temporarily.

  Even though the busiest part of his work year was coming to an end, he still had quite a bit to do during the next few weeks. He would
have to scramble to make up for the time he would be taking off to help her settle. And, on top of his workload for the remainder of the week, he would have three houseguests to entertain, two of them preschoolers.

  As much as he loved Payton, and considered her a well-behaved child, for the most part, he knew she was going to display some territorial tendencies when her home turf was invaded. Madison didn’t like change of any kind, so it would take her a few days to adapt. Mrs. McSwaim had taken the news with her usual equanimity, assuring him she could handle the extra work, but he was fully aware that he was doubling her childcare and housekeeping responsibilities—and at a time when he would be too busy to help her much.

  And then there was the one consideration that really worried him. He would be spending quite a bit of time with Miranda Martin—in his home. And his biggest fear wasn’t that he would be too badly inconvenienced during the next couple of weeks. It was that he would be reluctant to see her leave.

  For the first few months he had known her, he’d tried to deny his fascination with Miranda. When that hadn’t worked, he had assured himself that it was no more than a perfectly understandable physical reaction to a pretty, vibrant young woman. During the past few days, he had become painfully aware that his feelings for her were much deeper—and decidedly more dangerous—than a surface attraction.

  He had a definite talent for falling for the wrong women. Last time, he had ended up with a broken marriage and two children. Now he had a responsibility to protect those children from any future mistakes on his part. So what had he been thinking inviting Miranda Martin and her nephews to move in with them, even temporarily?

  Chapter Nine

  “You’re sure about this? You haven’t changed your mind?”

  Mark dragged a suitcase into Madison’s bedroom—the one the twins would be using for now. It was very late Tuesday afternoon and they had already set up Miranda’s bedroom furniture in the former playroom, which he had cleared out the day before. They had rented a haul-it-yourself trailer to bring the furniture over, beginning early that morning.

  “For the hundredth time today,” he said, “I have not changed my mind.”

  “I can’t believe how much trouble you’ve gone to for us. This is well beyond the call of duty for an accountant.”

  He smiled a little, trying to ignore the weariness settling into his overworked back muscles. “I haven’t gone to that much trouble.”

  Standing in the middle of Madison’s bedroom, Miranda placed her hands on her hips and gave him a look of open disbelief.

  Okay, so maybe he had gone to a little extra effort. While Miranda had spent yesterday packing and making arrangements for the move, he had been preparing things here for their arrival.

  Both his girls had twin-bed sets in their rooms, so beds weren’t an issue. He’d known Madison would be more comfortable with her own things around her, so he and Mrs. McSwaim had hauled most of her toys into Payton’s room, and then had to move Payton’s things around to make space.

  Mrs. McSwaim had helped him prepare Madison’s bedroom for the boys. They had swapped pink bedspreads for hand-pieced quilts, and replaced a few other “girly” touches with things gathered from other rooms. Fortunately the walls were painted a neutral cream color, so it hadn’t been too difficult to convert the room into a welcoming temporary sanctuary for a couple of five-year-old boys.

  “I didn’t see this room before today, but I have a feeling it has been desissified since I accepted your invitation,” Miranda remarked.

  He chuckled ruefully. “I guess you could say that.”

  She nodded toward a collection of die-cast metal race cars grouped on a shelf that had held a row of dolls only a few hours earlier. “Yours?”

  His grin deepened. “Mine. I’m a NASCAR fan. I have trouble passing up the die-cast replicas of my favorite drivers’ cars. I don’t know if Jamie and Kasey care anything about racing, but most boys like cars—and by the way, they’re free to play with anything in here. I’m not one of those collectors who puts stuff in glass boxes and forbids anyone to touch them.”

  Miranda spent another minute studying the colorful array of cars, and then she said in a voice that sounded a bit strangled, “You’ve been so nice to us. I don’t know how to—”

  He dropped his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”

  Her eyes were damp when she looked up at him. “All right. But thank you.”

  He couldn’t resist focusing on her trembling, naturally pink mouth, and remembering that all too brief taste of her just before her nephews had arrived Friday evening. He had been hungry for more ever since.

  He actually felt his head lowering toward hers when a crash of sound from outside the room made them both jump back. Moments later, Payton led the twins into the room. She was talking nonstop in the high-pitched tone she used when she was excited, and Poochie was bouncing around her feet, yipping frantically along with her. General pandemonium reigned for a few minutes, effectively putting an end to the intimate interlude between Miranda and him.

  He knew he should be grateful that the interruption had prevented him from doing something that would inject awkwardness into the next few days. But he suspected that what he was feeling was much closer to disappointment than gratitude.

  Mrs. McSwaim had left a chicken casserole and spinach salad for dinner. Miranda had found Mark’s housekeeper to be a very pleasant woman. In her early sixties, she was short and slightly built, with an air of quiet authority that the children responded well to.

  She was also a very good cook, Miranda decided, swallowing a bite of the mildly spicy casserole. No wonder Mark was so pleased with the arrangement he and his neighbor had made.

  Mrs. McSwaim had insisted she didn’t mind keeping the boys while Miranda worked the rest of the week. Payton would be in preschool until noon, but Mrs. McSwaim seemed to have no doubt that she could handle all four children when necessary. She seemed to find it perfectly natural that Miranda and the boys had moved in with Mark temporarily; she had even made a comment that it was nice to have friends to turn to in times of need.

  That was still such a new concept for Miranda that it mystified her.

  There was no need for her to make much of an effort at keeping up her end of the conversation during dinner. Payton more than fulfilled that responsibility, describing every detail of the field trip her preschool class went on that morning.

  The child could certainly talk. Kasey did a pretty decent job of keeping up with her, and Jamie even said a few things when he could get a word in. Madison didn’t say much, but she didn’t seem as shy this time, watching with open curiosity as the others interacted around her.

  Miranda turned her attention to Mark. He, too, was eating quietly, apparently paying only partial attention to Payton’s chattering.

  Studying his face from across the table, Miranda decided he looked tired—and no wonder. He had hauled furniture and boxes, shuffled and rearranged, while still checking in regularly with his assistant to make sure things were going smoothly in his office. Miranda suspected that his workday wasn’t over yet. He had made a comment earlier about planning to do some work that evening after dinner.

  Her gaze slid down his face to his mouth. He had almost kissed her earlier, before the timely interruption by the children. She had seen the intention in his eyes when he’d lowered his head toward hers…and she had held her breath, anticipating the contact. Ever since last Friday night, the thought of kissing Mark had hovered in the back of her mind. It was there still—despite her repeated warnings to herself that it was not one of her better ideas.

  She supposed she should be concerned that things might get out of hand between them with her living here. But as a burst of laughter came from Payton and Kasey’s side of the table, she reminded herself that they had plenty of chaperones to make sure those potentially dangerous interludes were few and far between.

  Definitely for the best,
she supposed. Too bad the kids’ presence couldn’t stop her from fantasizing about what might have been.

  After dinner, Mark sent the kids into the den to watch a short animated feature on DVD while he and Miranda cleaned up the kitchen. She tried to talk him into letting her handle that on her own, but he insisted on helping out. It was something he did every evening, anyway, he told her. And, besides, he knew where everything went.

  “All the munchkins seem to be starting to droop,” she observed, trying to make innocuous conversation while she and Mark loaded the dishwasher. “I guess it’s been a long day for everyone.”

  “Yeah. Payton tends to bounce off the walls when she’s excited—not to mention talking a mile a minute. She wears herself out, and then she crashes.”

  “I noticed that she likes to talk.”

  Mark chuckled. “Be hard not to notice. Mrs. McSwaim thinks Payton’s going to be the next Oprah.”

  “She could be right.”

  Mark measured dishwashing detergent into the dispenser and closed the doors to the dishwasher, then pressed a button to activate the wash cycle. “As soon as the video is over, it’ll be time for the kids to take their baths and go to bed. That could take a while, but after they’re asleep, I thought you and I could sit down and discuss some plans, if you like.”

  “Sure. If you have time.”

  “I’ll make time.”

  She nodded briskly, trying to treat the suggestion as a business appointment. Which it was, she reminded herself. Mark had offered his services as her financial planner, and she had accepted. Looking at it that way made her much more comfortable than seeing it as a favor.

  She really should ask him to bill her for his time. That would make the entire arrangement even more impersonal and keep things on a more even basis between them. If she paid for his expertise, she could feel free to ignore anything that didn’t feel right for her.